


coffeeshop alias

by captnmrvl



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Barista!Steve, Coffeeshop AU, F/M, WIP, undercover!nat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnmrvl/pseuds/captnmrvl
Summary: Natasha Romanoff recently moved into a new apartment to slip into a new alias for the CIA, Steve Rogers is an overtly friendly owner of her new favorite coffeeshop.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in probably about 4-5 years, so consider it a warm up to get back into writing. I had this idea months ago and couldn't ignore any longer so I put it into words. Inspired by my love for coffee.

She's been in her new apartment a few weeks now and is still living out of boxes littering the dark oak floors. The only boxes she had bothered to unpack were her clothes and the rolling rack they reside on. Her one bedroom, one bath has a closet, but it's too shallow. She respects her clothing too much to force it under drastic conditions. Her shoes are all lined up neatly against her blank bedroom wall, and a full-length simplistic mirror sits proped up in the corner. Her bed is equally as simple, with a copper headboard and white linens. Her kitchen is scattered between a few boxes resting on the marble countertops (that were surprising to find in a place supplied by the CIA).

Natasha has been living off of one plate, some silverware, and take out since she moved in. Even her much loved coffee pot was still stowed somewhere. She had taken to visiting the small coffeeshop a block and a half up the street for her morning caffeine fix because, somehow, walking that far seemed less exhausting than sorting through the boxes. There was one shop closer to home but the coffee was over complicated and a tad pretentious. When she asked about the laboratory looking glass contraption they had proudly displayed behind the counter the only answer the barista gave her was an eye roll. Gratefully, she found the perferred shop a week after settling in to her new surroundings. 

Natasha was headed there now, slipping on her pointed loafers before her long grey wool coat that was a little too big on her, as she liked. She trotted down the two flights of stairs with her personal phone in hand. She had a couple texts from an unsaved number belonging to a one night stand she had about a week ago. Her eyes rolled as she deleted the message thread and chucked the phone in her black leather purse. Her work phone was surprisingly quiet. 

It's was a nice fall day in DC. The air was crisp but the sun was just warm enough to tingle her skin. She welcomed this weather after the constant drizzle from last week. Her flats tapped against the damp pavement as she made her way down the block, noticing the neighbors that started their day about the same time she did. There was the dark-haired mom who had to fight to get her three kids in the car and off to school, trying to buckle her whining toddler in his seat. The older man who sat on his stoop with the daily newspaper and a cigarette every morning nodded towards her as she passed him. Natasha has most of her neighbors routines down in her head. The agency was very clear with the level of surveiling that was needed for this assignment. It came with a new identity and assignment. Her only instruction thus far were to move into the area, observe, and assume the identity of Natalie Rushman. Her mission was marked "to be disclosed" in her briefing folder. She goes into her office everyday, though it was moved from the Pentagon to a run-of-the-mill office building in town.

Her eyes fell on the now familiar wood sign that spelled out _Brooklyn Coffeehouse_ in bold, iron letters. The cafe was warm and inviting, with an intensely overwhelming smell of fresh coffee and the plants that appeared to cover almost every table and shelf. She appreciated the rustic parque flooring and the exposed brick walls that gave this place more character than the modern and, almost surgically, clean coffee shops that have sprung up recently in the city. This little place was much more homey. She stepped in line and trailed the now familiar menu despite already knowing what she wanted. Natasha rarely ordered anything but black coffee, americanos, or espresso.

The scruffy guy that's always here (Steve she thinks his name is?) stood behind the register, punching in a price of a latte as he chuckled with the man in front of her. He treats every single one of his customers like a friend until they were one, she's noticed. It was a bit annoying, if she were honest. She appreciated the service but her barista didn't need to know her life story. Working for the agency is much easier when she's able to fly under people's radars. Natasha impatiently checked her watch - she had a few spare minutes before she needed to catch a cab to the office and the customer in front of her was still chatting away with the cashier about the Yankees. A sigh mixed with a yawn pushed through her lips. She just wanted her coffee. 

"Well hello again," the guy greeted her at last. Natasha stole a glance at the name tag proudly displayed on his forest green plaid shirt. _Steve _, it read, she was right.__

____

____

"Hi, can I get a 16oz of your freshest?" she asked with a polite smile. 

"Of course! That would be the Sumatra, is that alright?" God he was way too chipper for this time in the morning. 

"That's fine," she nodded as she wrestled her wallet from her purse. She pulled out a five and had it ready as Steve poured her coffee. Her gaze wandered the broadness of his shoulder as his back was to her. His plaid shirt was the tiniest bit too tight across his back - not that she was complaining. She noticed the faintest ripple of muscle as he fiddled to get the lid on the cup.

"Hey, what's your name?" he inquired. His question snapped her out of her trance. He placed the coffee in front of her and punched her total into the register. 

"You need my name for a cup of coffee?" she retorted with a cocked eyebrow. Natasha slid him the money and stashed the bills back in her wallet. 

"No," he admitted. "But I've seen you in here a lot recently and I thought I'd ask." 

A smirk pulled at her lips as she offered him a dramatic eye roll. "Natalie," she reluctantly gave up.

"Now, was that so hard? Nice to officially meet you, Natalie." His eyes lit up as a grin spread across his face. "My name's Steve," he gestured toward his name tag. "I own the place." It was almost cute, how much pride laced his voice. He handed her back the change and she tossed the coins into the tip jar, the bills went back into wallet.

"Nice to meet you," she gave another polite smile as she grabbed her coffee and turned to leave. She wasn't too keen on drawing unnecessary attention to herself. 

"See ya tomorrow!" He called after her. She rolled her eyes, again, and shook her head to herself as she sipped her coffee. It was delicious and warm and syrupy sweet. He was mildly and irritatingly observant, but he made great coffee. To anyone else his welcoming attitude might be appreciated, but Natasha enjoyed blending in. She took another sip of her coffee as she pushed out the door, scanning the street in front of her for a cab. She found one quicker than expected and flagged it down. She quickly mumbled her destination to the driver as she settled in. 

She caught a glance of the coffeeshop as the cab pulled away. The assumption that she'd be back tomorrow was a tad worrisome; she didn't particularly like being a regular. Being at a certain places at certain times had a vulnerability to it. She took another deep sip from her cup and felt the warmth of the coffee spread inside her. The layers of flavors were wonderful. 

Maybe Natalie could be a regular.


End file.
